


The reason I came to work everyday

by sherbal



Series: Je ne sais quoi [1]
Category: Late Night Host RPF
Genre: M/M, This is super super weird but I don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10036214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherbal/pseuds/sherbal
Summary: Well, nothing much to say, Conan&Andy.Before and after  Andy left in 2000.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. These two are straighter than the highway to hell. But I want to do this cause they are truly amazing together. Their chemistry is ten percent stronger than absolute alcohol.  
> The title is a quote from Conan in an article I read about early. But sadly I can't find it now.  
> I think the original version is like Conan whispered to me (the journalist) while Andy was not paying attention, "he was actually the reason I came to work everyday."  
> That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard in the RPF world.  
> Even though shipping these two can be (quite) a little weird. I want to give it a go.

Some say that laughing only uses six facial muscles while crying can use fourteen.  
But why was it so hard to pull a smile when you were desperately trying to make your leaving funnier for me to accept?  
You were so... you, wearing your short shorts when you wandered into my office barefooted.  
You started babbling about the new movie, about how you were excited about them, about how we should see this this Friday night.  
It should be pathetic that two guys in their mid-thirties still have no families and go to the cinema together like teenagers. You made a joke about jerking off in the back row just to annoy the making-out lovebirds at the front.  
This was funny.  
But I only laughed absently because I wasn't paying attention.  
I couldn't remember what was in my head at that time. Probably something do with our sketches for the upcoming shows.  
Yes, our sketches. Until there was no you and only me, and there was nothing can be called ours except memories.  
"Conan." You said with ease. "I want to leave the show."  
You were still so... you. Your eyes nervously looking away. You lowered your head like a naughty boy sitting outside the principle's office waiting for being called in. Your blonde hair almost shone in my dim little office.  
I always knew this would happen sometime. I didn't expect this to happen this quick.  
We had only been together for... was that almost seven years?  
And you were leaving.  
You looked at me with concern.  
"Conan, are you okay with this?"  
No, I was not.  
"Yeah, have you got yourself some projects?"  
"Yes." You said with your eyes shining. They were blue like calm waters. "A game show and a couple of tv producers offered some roles."  
I said to you that I was happy for you and I was totally okay with this and I was just so happy for you. It was my basic instinct, congratulating people when they shared their happiness.  
You smiled. You face lit up like a kid finally gets his candies.  
"I'll tell the others." You stood up and left.  
Your bare feet made soft sounds on my carpet. I thought I would miss that.  
I did.

I tried to get used to not having you around by avoiding you in the following days.  
I escaped from the studio to have my lunch during rehearsals, just to run away from you, from having to sit next to you constantly reminding myself that this man would not be in that spot next month.  
I didn't overdo this so no one could find out. That I was afraid of your leaving.  
It was almost like knowing the time I died from those stupid websites.  
You made fun of me, I mocked back.  
You joked about my skin and my hair as usual, and I said horrible things about your weight.  
You were out of words and had to fake crying to respond to my fat joke.  
I never explained things after jokes. I didn't say that Jay Leno was a great guy with good-looking chin after making fun of his massive chin.  
But how I wanted to tell you that I loved you that way.  
You were lovely, you were so...you. Being yourself, being Andy Richter already made you perfect.  
But you were not perfect.  
You smoked on set. You were a sloppy eater. You always got so angry and stopped talking to me for about 24hours when you saw I did something dangerous.  
And you were leaving.

Almost everyone asked me how I felt about your leaving, during rehearsals, in the bathrooms, waiting for the elevators, in front of a broken coffee machine.  
I always told them I was happy for you and I was glad that couch you occupied could finally get a much lighter ass to sit on it.  
But I couldn't tell them I would miss you so much that it was painful to let you walk out of my life.

Had anyone ever told you that you smelled like potatoes after you quit smoking ?  
Not in a bad way.  
They were more like fresh potatoes on the market, with the scent of dirt.  
Perhaps it was because you ate a lot of chips, even too much for a bachelor at his mid-thirties.  
When I met you for the first time, I thought you were the kind of guy married with three kids.  
But you were unattached, just like me.  
We were too old to act like reckless teenagers but we were only a pair of morons roaming down the street of New York.  
I remembered one evening, after we got out of the office building to the streets.  
You suggested a movie. I said yes.  
Probably something with Jonny Depp in it.  
I only remembered that I bought you a hotdog when we were waiting for the movie. Your face was red with cold in the chilling New York winds. Your hair was a mess because you kept running your hands through it. You got sauce on your chin. And you looked lovely, under the neon light of a cinema. That was an image I would stick with my whole life.  
You fell asleep even before Jonny Depp showed up. I was about to shake you awake, but then your head rested on my right shoulder.  
You were worked up, I thought, after a long work day.  
I should continue to watch the movie so I could tell you the plots when we got home, about how amazing Jonny Depp was.  
But when I smelt your honest potato smell, I gave in, too.  
After all, it was also a long day for me.  
We were woken by the cinema staff, impatiently asking for us to leave.  
They didn't recognize us at that time. Actually no one could recognize us for the first couples of years. Until we made it bigger and bigger.  
We walked out of the cinema, wearing heavy coats.  
You were so... you. Hiding your face under the grey scarf you were wearing. Snuffled to complain about me not waking you up and you missed Jonny Depp.  
We stopped to wait for the traffic light to turn green.  
All of a sudden, you stopped talking and turned to me. I thought the world was finally quiet for a moment. There was just you and me, standing on the streets of New York.  
Your nose was red with cold. And you looked up at me in the dim lamplight.  
I sort of wished I could kiss you at that time.  
Your eyes were saying things I didn't understand.  
And when I decided to lean down, the traffic light turned green. The pedestrians around us were moving forward.  
You looked away, started walking forward.  
I was such a coward.  
It went snowing. Small snowflakes on your blonde hair.  
There was an awkward silence between us.  
"Conan." You finally said. "I'm not..."  
I said I was not either.  
You smiled, and blamed the cold weather.

Time was a cruel stepmother.  
We had our fun and now it was time to go separate way.  
At the farewell party for you, I did my best to use your anecdotes to amuse the room. Everyone was sad to see you leaving but the least I could do was to let them forget about this for a moment.  
You didn't drink much, not your usual self.  
I didn't either, alcohol couldn't help with anything.  
I sneaked outside to go to the toilet.  
When I opened the door, you were there, smoking.  
"I thought you quit smoking long time ago." I said.  
"One or two can't hurt." You lit another one.  
There came a long silence that I didn't know what to say even after years of training of talking in front of cameras.  
"I know it's hard." You prepared to say more.  
But I couldn't listen.  
We never talked about our feelings these years.  
I was not a man who felt comfortable expressing his emotions openly.  
You didn't think much about your feelings. You just let them come and go.  
"I'm happy for you and it's your choice and I respect that." I said to the mirror.  
"Yeah, thanks buddy." You looked relieved again.

The first day without you at work was harder than I imagined.  
I wished I could tell you that you were the reason I came to work everyday.  
Doing the show would be a lot more difficult if you hadn't made it so funny for me.  
The staff missed you too. They didn't laugh at my jokes as usual that day.  
Yes, when a two-man act became a one man show, it wouldn't be as funny as before.

I hadn't seen you for weeks. You didn't call. Me neither.  
I knew you were probably doing well. Letting you go maybe is the best option.  
Now you could finally pursue the acting career you always wanted.  
You were always a better actor than me. I never could present a character without the real me being a part of it.  
But you were so flexible, ready to be anyone in any time.  
I wondered if you'd like to be mine sometimes.  
Of course, this was a silly thought. We were buddies.  
I didn't even know if this was just possessiveness or something far more complicated than that.  
With a show to run, I didn't have much time to think this through.

Your visit on that Saturday night was unexpected.  
You didn't say that you were just dropping by.  
I opened the door.  
You came in.  
The room was warm with you in it. Pizza boxes and beer cans still on the floor. Newspapers on the sofa. The television was murmuring in the background.  
I was just about to clear the sofa to make rooms for you to sit down.  
But there was no need for this.  
"I'm moving to LA." You said with your eyes fixed on me. They were a lot darker than the usual sea blue. I guesses it was because of the light.  
"When will you leave?" I said plainly.  
"Tomorrow."  
I wanted to say something, asking about how were things going recently.  
You stood on your toes and kissed me.  
This was unexpected. But I think it was safe to say that I had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Things were going crazy after this.  
When I woke up in the morning, you were gone.  
The flat was the same before you came here. There was not even a single piece of evidence suggesting your previous visit.  
It was snowing heavily outside. Snowflakes like feathers were quietly falling from the enormous grey skies.  
Now you were probably in a cab to the airport, listening to the moans of the cabbie complaining about the terrible weather.  
What happened was still a puzzle to me.  
You were still a puzzle to me.  
I thought I needed an answer. But I didn't know the question.  
People always say that it's not about the answer but the right question.  
Even if I asked, what I could do was only opening my mouth and closing it.  
So I didn't try to reach you for weeks.  
I didn't know the question and I didn't think you would know the answer even if I miraculously figured out what was the question.

Life was going in a way pretty much like before after you were gone.  
I heard about you occasionally. You were doing well.  
At least better than being the sidekick of a moderate late night talk show.  
When people mentioned about you, they always turned to me for more information about you. They assumed that since we were good pals, I should know what you were doing at the moment.  
I usually laughed awkwardly. Because I didn't know, and I never asked.

Eventually, you called. I waited by the phone not confident enough to pick it up.  
You sounded pleasant in the phone, saying that you were writing scripts for your new show.  
I told you about how things were brilliant here without you fooling around.  
We hung up after fifteen minutes of pleasant talking. Both of us choosing to ignore the elephant in the room.

Then after exactly a week, I called you.  
You picked up quickly, calling out my name.

Then, again, next week this time, you called.  
We settled into a comfortable routine. Calling each other every Saturday night. Every phone call was about ten to fifteen minutes. After all, we actually didn't have that much to talk about.  
Sometimes, it almost felt like we were losing our chemistry.  
But it was great to hear your voices.

We were doing this for about half a year until one night. I called you as usual, a girl picked up.  
"You must be Conan. Andy's downstairs. I'll fetch him."  
I should expect that.  
Well, she sounded like a lovely lady on the phone at eleven o'clock.

Our phone calls came from weekly to monthly.  
I forgot to call and you might forget about this either.

A year passed.

Two years passed.

I grew used to not thinking about you a long time ago.  
When people told me about you, I sometimes wondered. Andy? That Andy who worked in the show? Or our previous writer?

I seldom came to your city. Yes, LA, the city you lived in.  
I never considered New York as my home and I never felt secure in this big juicy apple.  
But you love LA. You loved New York. You are a man without very high standards, who always feel easy anywhere.  
I came to do a special program there and you welcomed me with open arms.  
This was not the first time we met after you came to LA, of course.  
But I still felt like we were never together, that you were just a hologram floating in the air.  
You guested on my show, we didn't talk about our feelings, only joking around like proper adults.  
Part of the audiences seemed not knowing who you are. I felt like a giant fist punching me in the face over and over again for beating my memories of you out of my head.  
You see, I was forgetting too.  
You became part of my history, fading away. But you were sitting right next to me, talking about your new show.  
When I looked at you, I saw the stars and the snow.

After finished taping, we went out to have some proper dinner together with a couple of friends.  
It almost felt like the good old time, when we were stuck in the tiny little offices, thinking desperately about jokes.  
You insisted that we came to your flat for beers.  
The others all refused politely for they had a family to come home to.  
There was just me, a guy in his late-thirties, not being in any kind of relationships.  
I remembered someone asking about your girlfriend. You said her name but I forgot.  
You know, my mother was setting up dates for me since last year. She was tremendously worried that I would die alone in my flat twenty years after.

It was raining.  
LA doesn't snow. We wrapped up warm walking in the cold rain, sharing your umbrella.  
You are slightly shorter than me, so I was the one holding it.  
Two guys sharing an umbrella should be considered not very manly, especially in California.  
But I guessed both of us didn't care that much. Cause you got a girlfriend, and I had plenty of future set-up dates.  
You were talking about your new show, telling jokes of what happened during shooting.  
You always can't tell something in a simple way. You talked like you forgot your lines but there actually wasn't any.  
I listened, with all my heart.  
I couldn't think about the new segment for my show or the book I was currently reading.  
You were far more important than this. And it took me a long time to figure this out.  
We were waiting for the traffic light at one crossroad.  
You stopped talking.  
This must remind you of that night in New York.  
You looked at me in the eyes, and I looked at you.  
It was hard to resist the urge.  
I kissed you, at a crossroad, with pedestrians walking around us.  
You broke away. I was about to apologize.  
Then you tilted the umbrella to cover our faces, while standing on your toes, kissing me back.  
I felt like I won the first prize.

You didn't have the time to leave this time.  
When I woke up at six in the morning, I checked to see that you were still there right next to me, snoring slightly.  
You were thinner. You got longer hair. You looked older.  
When I met you for the first time, you were just a cheerful young man with bright blue eyes.  
You've grown up. We all do.  
I had to go to the toilet. When I went in and looked at myself in the mirror, I saw two toothbrushes and two cups.  
I should have think of this.  
I was the intruder and perhaps it was time for me to leave you alone.

I got dressed quietly in the toilet. I couldn't face myself in bare daylight.  
When I came out, you were still sleeping.  
I crossed your living room which was so tidy that didn't suit your style.  
I closed the door, saying farewell probably for the last time.

It was still raining outside. Not heavily. Just a couple of drizzles.  
Just when I was trying to wave at the third taxi that passed me, you called out my name from behind.  
I turned around, only to find you standing there in your T-shirt and shorts.  
Your hair was darker than the usual sandy blonde for it was wet from the rain.

"What do you think you are doing?" Your face was red with anger.  
"Going back to my hotel?"  
"We should talk about this."  
I refused to talk.  
We just stood there, in the rain, staring at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence.  
Finally I gave in.  
We ended up in your flat once again.  
You sat me down in the kitchen, then started to make some breakfast.  
The bacons were sizzling in the pan, creating a noise to the quiet kitchen.

"What we did was not right, you know that." I stared at the bacons and scrambled eggs in my plate.  
"Why?" I could feel your gaze on me, but I couldn't raise my head to meet your eyes.  
"You've got a girlfriend. I should respect this. I should respect her."  
"You stuck your tongue in my fucking throat on the fucking street, and now you want to talk about respect?"  
I didn't know why he got so mad but I felt like I'm losing myself.

"You fucking knocked and came to my flat that night. And then what? In the morning, you just left? I respected that. And I still respect your choice. What's wrong with giving you fucking respect you don't even deserve? It takes two to fucking tango. Don't act like you didn't make this happen."  
I gasped for air. Blood was rushing to my brains that I felt like I'm the bacon in the pan.  
You stared at me, so hard, that your blue eyes looked like they were popping out of their sockets.  
"You're always like this! Blaming yourself for something but everyone knows that you are blaming them. You talk about respect. You take all the responsibility. You make yourself look like the victim to make you the good one. But don't you think sometimes no one is evil and this whole thing is fucked up that no one needs to take the blame?"  
I thought you really got a point. But I didn't know hot to react, whether to punch you in the face or just leave.  
"I loved you, even before you had some interests in me." You looked down at your bare feet.  
"But I don't want to be with you. You are a control freak. I tried to get to you. I couldn't stop being in love with you. But you are not the one for me, that's the only thing I know."  
You signed, sipped your coffee.  
"You are a great person, but not a good one. Being in the show business makes you filled up with suppressed emotions that you constantly need to release in other ways. People like you but they don't want to be a part of you. They can hang out with you. I can hang out with you. But I can't be in your mess. I love you but being a part of you in your life will eventually make me hate you. I don't wanna see this happen. That's why I left that morning."

I poked the eggs in my plate restlessly, trying to do something to make this less awkward.  
"Andy, you are always my beacon in my darkest time. When I first met you, I have little experience of this business. I felt like I was just holding the place for someone else the whole time. I panicked all the time and what I could do was to take all the blames to me that I would feel better. It was not anyone else's fault. It was my fault. I would forgive myself easier that way. You looked after me at that time even though you were the younger one. You made everything so funny for me that I could go on to make another pointless show every day. You were the reason I came to work, Andy. I know I'm a horrible person but you never give me a chance to say these things, to have a proper conversation. I know I lost you. You've already walked out of my life. But I still crave you, even more than before."  
You sat down across the table, messing your hair with your fingers.  
"Linda and I broke up recently. She cheated so you don't have to respect her."  
Your blonde hair was a mess, few strands of your curls fell over your eyes.  
We were all silently waiting for the other to say those words, to make the first move.  
I maned up.  
I walked over to your side, standing next to you quietly.  
You sat there, raising your head to meet my gaze.  
"Andy, will you give me a chance? Just a couple of days, just a week. If you feel there's something wrong, you don't like what's going on, we can call this off. We should at least give it a go."  
You nodded.  
I reached out to you slowly, pushing your hair back from your eyes. Your big blue eyes revealed from the shield, looking at me with deep emotions.  
You held my hand to your cheek, signing silently.  
"I don't know whether we should do this. But every fiber of me wants to." 

I had a week's vacation before I should went back to New York to continue my silly business.  
You were filming your new show. So we don't have all the time in the world for us.  
I wanted to impress you. I really do.  
But I didn't want to act like another person. I didn't want to trick you to like me that way.  
I went with you to the studio you were filming the series, being introduced as your bro from late night talk show.  
I kind of liked this. Being introduced as the old part of your life but you were still mine at this moment.  
I said hello to all of your co-workers. Giving them your anecdotes of the good old days.  
This made me feel like the happiest man on earth, for I had a feeling that I still owned you.  
I was just talking to your producer, who was furious that an actor broke his leg so he couldn't come to film this episode.  
He got quiet mad, yelling to his phone so loud that the everyone in this studio can hear every f word he used.  
Then he suddenly turned to me.  
He asked me if I wanted to appear as a guest-star. I said yes for I had nothing to do and I wanted to be a part of your life.  
I asked him what role I was about to play.  
Your producer plainly said, a rich psychopath.  
I didn't know why he considered myself perfect for this role.  
But this made you laugh so hard that your makeup assistants were getting angry.

I think I might stare at you in an appropriate way longer than necessarily in front of cameras.  
But your director liked it.  
I was just about to ask him if this character has some feelings to your character. He came to me during breaks.  
"Conan, just act like you have a thing for Andy, okay? Probably with some slight sexual tensions. You've done great. I don't have to remind you these. Anyway, just be a rich asshole and Andy's your bitch. Is that alright?"  
You heard our conversation and protested that you were not my bitch.  
"Of course you are." Your director shrugged and left us alone in the make-up room.

"You are not my bitch." I was going through the scripts.  
"No, I'm not." You said while loosening your tie.  
"But you are mine." I looked at you in the mirror, gazing at your eyes.  
"Yes." You looked like you were in another world, you were in the mirror. So far from me, so distant.  
Both of us ignored the unspoken "for now".

I love watching you acting. Your character shares the same name of you but he is not you. He is another version of you, more childish, more unrealistic, more daring.  
I love that version of you, but I love you more.  
Just the way you are.

My producer called me, asking where the hell I was.  
I told him I was going to stay here for a week before going back to NY.  
He didn't even ask who I was staying with.  
I think he knew.  
Couldn't care less.

We went out with your crew after a whole day's shooting. They all liked me, I think.  
Mainly because of you.  
Being your bro out there was another interesting experience. Being a bro actually was not far from being a lover, except that bros don't do sex.  
Irene told me she liked watching us doing silly things together on television when we were still together.  
I told her I liked that too.  
She said you could never shut up about your time in late night show. But you didn't mention me much. She thought we were not getting along.  
"Yes, I hate him so much that we only spoke to each other during taping."  
She laughed at this apparent lie. I put my arm around your shoulder to show our hardcore friendship.  
"I didn't hate you. You were always back in your den doing creepy things no one knew about when not taping. I heard strange noises and high-pitched laughters behind that closed door." You leaned towards me in my arms, with sleepy eyes.  
Beers made me feel lightheaded and a strange happiness.  
"Oh, I was just making love potion to use on our audiences. That's the only way to keep them cheering and applauding for one hour."  
"That's why I always felt funny when doing the show, you sick bastard."  
Everyone laughed.  
They wondered if I was with someone at that moment.  
I said no while casting secret glances at you.  
You took a sip of your beer, avoiding my gaze.  
Irene was surprised to hear that I had been single for years.  
"You look like newlywed." She commented. "You look like you are currently with someone you love."

We walked from the restaurant back to your place.  
One or two paparazzi passed us on their bicycles, snatching a couple of photos. We are cable celebrities. I guess our street photos couldn't sell more than five dollars.  
"Mr Richter, how do you feel about Linda Miller cheated on you?" One guy shouted out to you.  
"That's none of your business." You replied angrily.  
"Is this why you are back with Conan now?" That guy in a hoodie didn't stop here.  
"Fuck off." You ignored him, eyes focusing on your way.  
"You only start dating him recently or you two were together when you were working for him?" He looked smug.  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I knew something was wrong.  
Other paparazzi were gathering around us on hearing the chaos.  
"You know what I'm talking about." This man looked at me in the eyes and pulled a weird smile.  
"I don't understand what you're saying. This guy is talking shit." I looked to your side to say something to you, to see if you were okay.  
You pursed your lip, frowning at the paparazzi around you.  
You looked like you were thinking. And that caught the interest of those bloodhounds.  
They would consume you and me. They would tear our fleshes apart by using the cruelest words the world ever known.

We took cab separately as basic instinct, trying to stay away from each other as far as possible.  
In my hotel room, I called my agent. It took me a while to be complete honest with him. I told him everything, about you, about us.  
He was mad at me.  
I know I was nothing like Brad Pitt or George Clooney. But this scandal would ruin our lives. We couldn't afford to come out. We were even not officially together.  
While waiting my agent to call back, I dialed your number.  
Hearing your voice made all those mess go away.  
It was our first day and this fucked up badly.  
You sounded anxious, disappointed, worked up.  
We had so much to talk about but we didn't know where to begin.  
"You should go back to New York tomorrow." You finally said.  
"Yeah, that's for the best." I sighed into the phone.  
You went silent for a while.  
"Do you want to continue this, I mean, us?" I held onto my phone, carefully speaking these words.  
"I guess I want to."  
"I want, too."  
I didn't know what to say. That was far from enough.  
"Conan, I don't think this will work out. Our paths were already separated. Things can never go back. Perhaps we should forget this past and move on."  
"But I just have you, for less than a day? Please Andy, don't do this to me now."  
"We have to face it. This will be the end of our career. Things are just going well for you and me. I can not let this ruin everything I value. I can not let this ruin you." Your voice died down in the phone, in the end, it almost sound like a whisper.  
"Andy, all I ask is your trust. I don't know what will possibly happen next. But I want you in my life. I never wanted something so much that I would sacrifice anything to keep it, to keep you. I've lost you before, I don't want to lose you a second time. You listen to me, Andy Richter, I love you. You hear me? I love you more than I love my pathetic show. I love you more than my fucking late night career. You can't leave me now. You just can't."  
I felt hot tears coming down my face.  
"I need to think about it. I can't answer you right now. I'm a mess. It's late. I can't, I can't think. I'm sorry. This means a lot to me."  
You ended the call.  
I felt like someone slamming a door in front of my face.

My agent called me later that evening.  
He told me there were indeed some photos, but they wouldn't show him the photos.  
They were offering a price, which was absurdly high, even for me.  
"Look, Conan, I need to be pretty honest with you. End whatever you have with Richter. Even we can solve this crisis this time, I don't think how long we can hide this. Fuck, you've got girlfriends. What's wrong with you two?"

That night you didn't call me back. I waited all night by the phone, struggling not to call you.

When I checked out of the hotel, the lobby was full of paparazzi.  
"Conan, what's going on with you and Richter?"  
"Mr O'Brien, are you and Andy currently together?"  
I've heard enough.  
I went straight to the airport where other paparazzi were waiting here.  
Those spotlight I never had were now hunting me.  
These made me feel tired of my life in front of cameras.  
Before I aboard the plane, you still didn't call me.  
I didn't want you to rush to decisions. But I was desperately in need of your response.  
Stewardesses were doing safety check now and kindly reminded me to turn off my phone.

Someone sat next to me, holding a bag of Burger King.  
"You want some?" That funny guy said to me in a strong southern accent.  
I said no.  
"You sure? Cause it's a long trip." This guy kept shoving fries in front of my face.  
"Hey, I don't..."  
As I turned to that guy, I found you sitting right there, right next to me.  
I would trade anything in the world to make sure it was you.  
"You should have some of their fries. Airplane food sucks." You smiled to me.  
"You are going to New York?" I couldn't help touching your arm.  
"Sure, haven't been there for almost two years. Besides, LA is not the best place to come out. California is gayer than Elton John's wardrobe."  
The light from the window almost gave you a soft glow.  
You looked divine in this way.  
"But I need to know you are still with me. Coming out alone will be very awkward."  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I couldn't look at anything else except your eyes.  
"I don't have much of a choice, do I? Leaving a city is easy because you know you can come back sometimes in the future. But leaving someone you love can never be easy. Because there is no going back."  
"We've only been in a relationship less than a day. And now you will leave LA for me?" I thought this was far too unrealistic for me.  
"I'm writing something right now. Acting didn't work out. They didn't want to renew the third season of my show, so I will be unemployed for a while. Thought I have to go back to LA to film the rest of my show this Thursday." You ate your fries happily.  
"Thank you, Andy. You amazing son of a bitch."  
"It's alright, man. But I think you should know that we will probably have serious quarrel with each other in the future about who's to do the dishes and stuff and things won't be going on well for maybe a long time."  
"I don't think we should worry about this now. We can always have make-up sex."  
"That's great! I've always love make-up sex. Can we do this week?"  
"We still need to have something to "make-up" before we can have make-up sex."  
"Okay, fuck you, O'Brien, for being an asshole can't even control yourself while we were on the streets. Can we have make-up sex now?"  
"Yes, we can."

The flight took off, leaving LA. This land of fame and glory seemed so small from the tiny window next to me.  
All those didn't matter, I guess.  
You matter.

Feeling your head on my shoulder was just like that night we were in the cinema.  
Cozy, comfortable, reassuring.  
We will quarrel in the future. We will not speak to each other for 24 hours. I'll still be a sarcastic control freak and you'll still refuse to give in.  
That's what couples do. Being together won't make two imperfect human beings perfect.  
But what's really matter is being together.  
You are never my sidekick. You are my very own Andy Richter.  
You were the reason I came to work everyday.


End file.
